


Vicissitude

by PoisonMistress



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonMistress/pseuds/PoisonMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't the same. It wasn't right. Because she was there, it was all wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vicissitude

**Author's Note:**

> I just felt like writing something to do with John/Mary with Sherlock on the outside. I'm a bit apprehensive about what sort of part she'll play in S3, but the producers haven't disappointed me so far.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't right. Even when they were running along dark streets, or tied together in a terrorists hideout. Saving victims from raging infernos, or discovering hidden treasure. It wasn't how it was.

She was there. Passive, empty faced. She had snared him. He hated her. She had ruined it all. It wasn't the same.

When they would stop and stare into each other's eyes, excited, victorious, bleeding and riding high on adrenaline, it would all end. Flashing blue lights, idiots babbling, and him leaving. It wasn't right.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't right. There were no more takeaways, watching imbecilic television. There was nobody to scream at him to shut up when his violin howled in the middle of the night. Nobody to admire his deductions, or help in his experiments. No one to keep him away from other, less legal experiments. 

On a night there would be no last cup of tea, with the perfect amount of sugar. There would be nobody to give him smiles. Nobody to make sure he ate. His heart ached, his mind burnt. There was no more gun to shoot holes in the wall with. There were no jumpers lying around the house.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't right. There was nobody to defend him from cruel insults, or stitch him up after sharp bullets. When he fell, he would lie there bleeding. There was nobody to pick him up and help him home.

There were no more dinners. No more walks. No more cups of tea. Everything was dead and empty. There was no one to distract from the syringe and packet which was hidden under his bed. There was nobody to save him from the nightmares. Nobody to tell him it was all fine, even when it wasn't.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't right. When he ended up in hospital, there was no one to comfort him when he woke up. His heart craved comfort, friendship. But there was nobody. There was no life in his eyes, no vigour in his trembling fingers, no hope in his gaunt face.

And whenever he did see him, she was always there. There was no more intimacy. No more private jokes.

He stopped bringing him to crime scenes. He stopped going round to dinner. He stopped answering calls, and stopping fighting the cravings. Because it wasn't the same. It wasn't right.

Because she was there, it was all wrong.


End file.
